Mamihlapinatapai
by elizaaschmidt
Summary: The Pack is pack and on the top of the social scene of the Upper East Side, with Stiles being the first on everyone's radar. Will that change once he runs into Derek, a boy from Brooklyn who seems to only think the worst of Stiles and his friends? Basically Gossip Girl-esque, super AU, and insanely cliché
1. Chapter 1: The Pack is Back

**A/N:** Alright. I'm currently in the process of getting back into this fic, and I'm starting by fixing up the first two chapters. Obviously if you've read through it before you'll notice that this first chapter and the second one have been changed. So yeah, basically just expect that I'll actually be continuing this, even though there's such a delay from when I last worked on it. And once I get up the third chapter and am back on track I'll take this little comment-y thing down. xo (:

* * *

**Chapter One - Rooted**

**_The Pack is Back_**

_It's been yet another summer of escaping, tanning, and scandalous hookups, but now all of that has come to a close and The Pack has finally been reunited here in the Upper East Side. Most of them have been back here for about a week now, but Stiles and Lydia Martin were just spotted arriving from Paris in the Stilinski's private jet this morning. They are supposedly'best friends' but honestly, what kind of friends go to Paris alone together for two months. We all know it's just a matter of time before the two of them go public. And the perfect time for breaking news being the Argent's annual charity ball!_

_With all of The Pack heading back to school tomorrow it means it's time for the party to kick off the year, which this A-List event has always been. This year the money is going towards abolishing puppy mills across the country. Invites will be nearly impossible to get, but luckily we have sources on the inside and promise to keep everyone on the out well informed. If you follow our twitter ( ENews) we'll make sure you get all of the details to you right as they're happening._

_So keep your eyes peeled and your ears open, because this isn't Vagas, and what happens here is for all to hear._

"Paris, really?" Derek scoffed while he quit the browser and gently tossed is phone onto the counter he had been leaning against.

"What about Paris?" Laura called from the back room of the Deli where they both worked. It was right in the middle of the Upper East Side, and Derek would have given anything to quit, but the tips were fantastic and he was desperate for the money if he actually wanted to succeed in making it to Yale. The deli was Laura's full time job and she would help him pay for school as much as she could, but she also had to worry about rent on the small apartment they shared in Brooklyn. Therefore he was relying foremost on getting a scholarship and paying the rest with what he could scrape up himself.

"It's just the newest vacation spot for the one and only Stiles Stilinski," he said, turning around so he could see Laura through the door, "It's just so ridiculous. We're stuck here working our asses off all summer while him and _The Pack_ get to run around across the world throwing around money like it means nothing."

Laura let out a gentle laugh at her brothers complaining, used to hearing it. She knew by now to just ignore him and not give any input on what he was saying. Instead she continued her work, putting a tray of pastries into the oven.

"And a charity to end puppy mills? I mean seriously, Lar? It's ridiculous. I get that it's an important issue and all, and there's nothing wrong with trying to stop them, but I doubt a huge sum of money is going to help. Besides, everyone knows that the event's just an excuse for them all to get wasted and act like they're more important than they'll ever be." He probably would have continued on, but was interrupted by the chime of the bells at the front of the shop, announcing that a customer had entered.

* * *

Stiles sat near the back of the hall and observed the room around him wile pushing the ice around his water with a straw. He and Lydia had been escorted right from their landing to his families weekly Sunday brunch. He had been away from them for the entire summer and had forgotten just how hectic they tended to be. He really wasn't in the mood to catch up with people that he barely knew though, so instead he sat (hopefully away from the view of most people) with Lydia.

"Did you hear, everyone's once again claiming that we're together," she rolled her eyes and took a sip from her champaign and orange juice, "as if I would ever give you a chance, you would be the worst boyfriend ever. I have no idea what everyone sees in you."

Stiles' mouth took up a genuine smile at that. Somehow even when he didn't know what he was feeling Lydia knew exactly what to say.

He finally looked up from his water and attempted to put on a convincing offended face, "Is that right? Because I just think you're jealous tha-" an ear-shattering crash from across the room interrupted him mid-sentence. The entire room went silent and looked in the direction of the noise. From the looks of it Jackson's mother had purposefully dropped her plate on the floor, the shattered remains of it extending across the room. Her eyes were currently shooting daggers (a look which Stiles found sharper than the shards of chinaware) at the waiter in front of her.

"You said this was a _vegetarian_ crepe," she said between clenched teeth. "There was a piece of bacon in it! Bacon! The last time I checked, bacon comes from pigs. Which. Are not. Vegetarian!"

If the scene didn't make Stiles afraid for his own life (and that was even in the safety of the back corner of the hall- how were the people at the tables surrounding her not in hysterical tears?) he would have embraced the glorious opportunity handed to him and taken a picture of the woman. He was pretty sure he could see a vein pulsing on the side of her forehead. He almost wanted to laugh because, really? It was over a piece of bacon - who doesn't love bacon?

The waiter looked too stunned to speak, but luckily Melissa McCall rushed over to put a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her to sit down at a table. Slowly everything returned to normal; the floor was cleaned immediately, a new, bacon-less crepe was delivered, and everyone resumed their mindless conversations.

After a few too minutes more of false conversation, people started to file out of the room, Stiles and Lydia being some of the first. They met up with Scott and Allison on their way out of the room, Jackson, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd already waiting outside of the building for them, having previously made plans to head back to Jackson's place after brunch. Well, one of his many places. Jackson's family owned the most successful real estate company in New York and had countless buildings to show for it. Jackson was given the keys to most of them, and they usually chose to waste days at a time in any one of his buildings because they were basically guaranteed to be alone. Over the past few years though, the group of friends found themselves staying in one particular building over the others. The apartment was styled with an eighteen hundreds feel to it, and it was a nice change from the cold, modern buildings that they all lived in. Instead it felt worn in; when they talked, it wasn't the usual noise of voices echoing around the barely touched room, they actually filled it with warmth. And even more than that, when all of them were there together it maybe even felt like home.

"So I have to say your mom royally flipping her shit was the highlight of my morning," Scott said from the love seat he was sitting on with Allison, her coral pink heels neatly placed on the floor beside them and her feet tucked underneath him. Everyone laughed with him except for Jackson who was shooting Scott a similar look to the one his mother had been wearing earlier. It was more teasing than anything, but somehow still terrifying.

"Ugh, come on, Jackson. You know he's right, you saw you're mom's face and it was amusing as hell. You think no one saw that corner of your mouth twitch when she started screaming... But. I. Did," Erica smirked, looking over at Jackson who finally broke and laughed along with them.

"I can't believe classes start again tomorrow," Isaac said offhandedly as the laughter died down.

"And it's our last year too," Allison bit her lip nervously. They all knew that they would get into whichever colleges they wanted so they really didn't have too much to worry about, but there was still the underlying fact that this was going to be their last year together. They had all been attending school together since they were young and it just felt wrong to know that it was all going to end so soon. Even though their friendship had somewhat been forced upon them due to their families being in the same social circle, they didn't know what they would do without one another. Their personalities clashed in the best ways and no matter what they went through, they always seemed to find their way back together.

"Well I say," Boyd started from where he was leaning against the windowsill that took up the majority of the wall, "that instead of getting all emotional now, we spend our last day of freedom getting completely shit faced."

* * *

Derek dragged himself into the Deli after school even though Monday's were usually pretty quiet. Laura would be working by herself and he figured that she could probably use some company. Besides, it was either do homework there, or do it alone at home with a box of chinese takeout as company. Laura wasn't at the front counter when he walked in, so he wandered into the back room where she was sitting, feet up on the counter with a newspaper in her hands. Dirty pans and half cooked pastries were scattered across the kitchen, different scents filling up the room. They didn't actually own the deli, but the owner made enough money from it to not really care what foods Laura chose to bake and sell. As long as customers continued to come they basically and free reign over the place. Laura took advantage of that and was constantly cooking anything she could think up on days when it wasn't hectic.

"Your day any good?" she asked to which Derek simply grunted in response and took a seat in a stool at the other end of the counter. He pulled out his advanced functions textbook and started working. They didn't technically have any homework to do after the first day, but there were grades that he needed to get and the only way that was going to happen was by putting in more effort than everyone around him.

"Here, you might find this interesting," Laura slid the paper across the counter to him, covering his work with it, "and you need to calm down, it's your first day back, you're not supposed to be studying yet." Derek would have made a retort about how he needs to get into Yale, but the paper sitting in front of him grabbed his attention. Bold letters across the front of the page read,'The New Side of Stilinski'. He quickly skimmed the article, words like_ nightclub_ and_ banned_ and _The Pack_ standing out to him. He pushed the paper back when he was done and looked up at Laura.

"He punched someone in the face because they wouldn't let him into a club?" For some reason he needed to ask, to clarify that he hadn't just read wrong. Laura nodded in response though, and his mouth fell open slightly. After a moment of hesitation he snapped it shut and shrugged, not wanting to show that he was shocked, or that he even remotely cared. As he attempted to turn his focus back to his work though, he found his mind drifting. He had always assumed Stiles was an idiot based off of all of the articles he had read in the past, but never would Derek have thought that he was a complete dick. Clearly though, his expectations couldn't be met all of the time.

* * *

He was somewhere close to three-thousand percent done before first period was even over. It wasn't that people at school showed any difference to him; he was still a Stilinski, and just because he punched some asshole didn't change that for any of them. They would never actually say anything about what he did. Well at least they wouldn't say anything directly to him... Obviously people talked about it when he wasn't listening. He honestly couldn't be bothered with what anyone at school said when he wasn't paying attention though. He still stuck by what he did even if no one would understand why. So no, it didn't have have anything to do with being at school. Instead, it was the thoughts that continuously plagued his mind while he sat through hours of teachers going on about subjects that he couldn't care less about. Or really the conversation that ran through his head.

_"The New Side of Stilinski, really Stiles? You've been back for all of one day and you're already starting this?"_

_Stiles walked down the stairs and looked over at his father who was hunched over the kitchen island, newspaper in one hand, a drink in the other._

_"Well, I'm not exactly starting anything if I never finished in the first place, right?" His father glanced at him for a second before turning back to the article, disappointment spread across his face._

_"I can't believe you punched a bouncer," he dropped the paper in defeat and pinched the bridge of his nose._

_"Well, I mean if you're looking at the picture it shouldn't be all that hard to believe; are you sure you put on your glasses this morning?" His father just sighed in response. Stiles knew that his sarcasm wasn't helping in the slightest, but he really didn't know what to say. It's not like his dad would believe him if he attempted to explain the truth. So instead of trying to fix the situation he just grabbed a waffle from the extensive tray of food that their cook had brought that morning and left for school._

More than anything it was the look of pure disappointment that got to him. He could deal with people being angry at him, that was easy. But disappointment? That was harder. Usually he had a pretty solid relationship with his dad. Well, better than most of the people he knew. They actually enjoyed spending time together, and in a way they depended on one another. The two of them had gotten through a lot together and it would have been impossible not to be close after it all. They did do an amazing job of ignoring the painfully obvious things that they were both feeling and worrying about though, and Stiles could guarantee that the punch would never be mentioned again. Just how there was a silent agreement that Stiles wouldn't mention that his father was back to drinking before it was even twelve. They would just push it all to the side like they had so many other things. They would cover it up, seal the crack and hide the pain of it all. It wasn't exactly healthy, but it was the strategy that had worked for them thus far. It was the only way they knew how to deal with things.

But Stiles wasn't exactly ready to push aside the image of his father in the kitchen that morning. It brought him back to memories of the last time his father allowed his drinking to slip out of control. All of the cracks that he had covered and filled over time were starting to come to the surface again and it was too hard to control.

His friends could all tell that he was worn down, and for the most part they gave him space for space throughout the day. It could clearly be seen that they weren't going to last much longer, the concern they shared only increasing. As he was leaving his last class Jackson finally caught up to him, deciding that it was about time to say something.

"You seriously look like you could use a j right now, man," he walked along with Stiles through the frantic hall and out into the courtyard. There had been things he had been planning to put into his locker before leaving, but he needed to get out of the school before Lydia found him because she would seriously drag him along if that's what it took. "We're all heading over to my place now, c'mon. You need to loosen up."

Stiles shook his head and continued to walk, "I'm not really in the mood," he called over his shoulder. Instead of waiting around for Jackson to protest he just picked up his pace and took off in the first direction he saw. He still wasn't ready to go home, and didn't feel like putting on a fake smile with The Pack either. Just wandering was what he really needed.

It was easy for him to get lost in the sea of bodies. When he was surrounded like this Stiles could almost forget that people were constantly watching him and picking apart every little thing that he did. He blended in like this. He was just yet another person. Slowly he found the stress melting away from him and his mind became one with everything around him. His footsteps were just another set of footsteps, his breath was just the inhale and exhale of everyone around him, his heartbeat was in harmony with every beating heart. He was just as important and just as insignificant as the rest of the world. He was a speck. And as cold as it made him feel, the cold was comforting.

After what was probably hours but had only felt like a few minutes, Stiles' head was significantly more cleared and he was actually feeling like himself again, if not better, than he usually did. If getting away from everyone wasn't as difficult as it proved to be for him, he would have taken up walking nowhere in particular more often. He was interrupted from his thoughts though as his stomach clenched in pain. Right, food. The last thing he had eaten was the waffle that morning and he was starving. Turning around a corner he looked for the first store that would have something edible. To his right was a quaint looking deli called "Rose's Cuisine". He didn't even think twice about entering, his stomach guiding him through the door.

* * *

The usual chime rang through the shop and Laura looked up from sink where she was washing pans before turning over to her brother, "Can you get that, Derek? Kinda busy," he said, holding up her soapy hands as proof.

Derek sighed and pushed his work away from him, "Fine," he grunted and walked into the front of the store. "Welcome to Rose's Cuisine, how ca-" he stopped talking for a second as he met the eyes of the boy on the other side of the counter. Well that was just perfect, the rich asshole was actually standing in front of him. He quickly turned around to shoot Laura a glare through the door and saw her watching him with a far too innocent smile on her face, "Can I help you?" he tried again, turning back at Stiles.

"I really hope so? Um, I'm actually so starving right now it's insane. All I had to eat today was a waffle, that's really unusual for me. I'm pretty sure my average daily calorie intake could break world records. I have a feeling my metabolism is going to slow down one of these days and I will be so fucked, but I guess I'll just take advantage of it for as long as I can," Stiles said as he leaned his elbows against the counter. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was seeing something wrong. There was no way this was the same Stiles he had read about moments ago.

Derek simply pointed to the the the window of food that made up the counter, still trying to decipher what exactly was going on. "There's a bunch of stuff there, but if you want something else we can always make it for you." Stiles nodded and crouched down looking at all of the food in front of him, analyzing them as if his life depended on this one decision.

"Can I get that one, please?" he asked, pointing to a croissant that had chocolate and caramel glazed over it.

Derek nodded and grabbed it with a pair of tongs to place it in a paper bag. He punched it into the computer, "It's ugh, fifteen dolla-"

"Yeah, that's fine," Stiles said, pulling out his wallet. Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes, because _of course_ it's fine. Obviously Stiles would order the most expensive croissant they had and not think twice about it. Derek handed the bag to him as he slid a fifty across the counter. He automatically opened the cash to get out change, but Stiles shook his head. Derek wanted to be pissed at him, almost wanted to give Stiles a punch of his own, but he couldn't bring himself to be anything but confused. He had just gotten a thirty-five dollar tip from whom he had come to the conclusion was the worlds largest ass.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled at Derek, "and thanks!" he added, opening the bag immediately and taking a bite of the croissant. Stiles froze for a second before looking back up at Derek. He quickly finished chewing on the piece he had in his mouth, "Shit!" Derek took in a deep breath, preparing himself for it. This was when his suspicions about Stiles were going to be proved correct.

"This is literally the best thing I have ever tasted in my life," Stiles didn't appear to notice as Derek's expression once again faltered, instead distracted by the task of inhaling the croissant. He bit on his lip for a second in contemplation before putting out his phone.

"What's your number?" Derek gaped at him, being surprised at every single turn of events. Was Stiles... hitting on him? Stiles' eyes widened as he saw Derek's reaction.

"Oh, shit! No, I didn't mean- I just- Well. Ugh. Fuck me. No, I don't mean _fuck me_, fuck me, I sorry," he took a deep breath, his cheeks somewhat flushed. He ran his left hand through his hair awkwardly before trying again, "My family does this brunch thing every Sunday. Last week Jackson's- Jackson is one of my friends- well his mom freaked out because someone gave her a meat crepe when it was supposed to be vegetarian. It was actually really amusing, she practically whipped her plate at the woman like she was trying to slaughter her and her entire extended family or something. And I so should not be telling you this story because it's probably going to make you afraid of the job which is the complete opposite of what I was hoping for... Anyway, we had to fire them because of it, but we're still supposed to put on brunch this Sunday, and we'll we need new caterers. Which I didn't even ask you if you do catering, I probably should have thought of that. Do you do catering, by the way?" Derek nodded, not really sure what else to say. "Ah! Awesome. So yeah, I was just thinking I could tell my dad about you guys and give you a call if he was interested," Stiles smiled, still holding his phone out.

Derek wasn't about to go and turn down business so he just shrugged and gave Stiles his number.

"Alright," Stiles shoved his phone back into his pocket, "I guess I'll see you around then..." he drifted off and Derek realized that he was asking for his name.

"Oh, Derek. I'm Derek."

"Right then. Derek the badass baker," Stiles said, nodding, "Kinda has a ring to it? I'm Stiles by the way. But I guess that you would kn- Wow okay I'm going to stop talking _right now_ because finishing that sentence would make me a complete dick."

"It's fine, and I know. Thank's for stopping in."

The bell chimed once again as Stiles opened the door and began his walk back down the street. Derek continued to stand at the front counter, watching him leave instead of returning to the back. Right. So that confirmed any remaining suspicions that Derek may have had. There was no doubting that it was Stiles any more. Which just didn't make any sense. His understanding of who the guy was constantly jumped from one extreme to the other. Why did he seem like such a nice guy? Everything that he had read about him had been proved wrong. How the hell did that same polite guy that had been standing in front of him just seconds ago turn into the type of person to punch a bouncer who was just doing his job?

Derek shook his head. Sure, the people who came in often gave him tips and didn't ask for change, but it was never that much. The tip was more than double the cost of the croissant which was already ridiculously overpriced to begin with. Then again, he did have a basically endless supply of money so it wasn't like it meant anything to him. Never though had a customer said please and thank you to him in the past. He can't ever remember getting complimented on the food or actually having a conversation with someone unless it was regarding a complaint they had. Stiles was different. Different than he had assumed, and different than everyone who had come into the deli before him.

Or maybe he was just really good at first impressions.

Derek's phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, the screen reading that he had one new message. He unlocked his phone and read:

_Sooo thanks again for becoming the literal god of baked goods._

_(:_


	2. Chapter 2: Heartbeats

**Chapter Two - Heartbeats**

"So what'll it be, Greek, pizza, or Chinese?"

Derek dropped his highlighter and copy of Macbeth at his sisters words. He looked over at her and stretched his arms above his head while leaning back in his chair, the front two legs lifted off of the floor. "Just pizza's fine, I guess," he answered through a held back yawn. He pressed the home button on his phone and the screen lit up, the time reading 9:26. Shit, he hadn't stopped taking notes since he got back from school and hadn't realized just how much time passed. Laura clearly got off work only moments ago, and he probably should have ordered something so there would have been dinner ready for when she got back, but it hadn't even crossed his mind. He was less than a week into his classes and they were already overwhelming him; although he supposed that was the type of torture guaranteed to come with taking mostly AP classes.

"Pizza it is then!"

He followed the sound of her voice, walking the few steps from his room into the makeshift living space where Laura was curled up on their couch, the phone already wedged between her ear and shoulder. Their apartment was cramped, to say the least. It consisted of their two bedrooms, (although, Derek's was probably smaller than the average Upper East Siders walk in closet) a bathroom which they shared, and a kitchenette, which rested along one end of what a generous person would call a living room. Instead of putting in a formal table and chairs though, they used the extra few feet of space to squeeze in a sofa, a small coffee table, and a television. It only had three channels, but it played movies and that was really all they really needed.

The rest of the room was scattered with towers of books and empty coffee mugs. It wasn't that they couldn't have afforded a better place if they wanted, but Laura had insisted it would be better to save as much as they could in order to send Derek off to school. He had protested for months about how he could make it all himself and that she deserved to live somewhere nice, but Laura was stubborn. As unbelievable as it was, even more so than Derek. So they lived in their dingy apartment. He probably still would be hassling Laura into moving, but he had kind of fallen in love with the place. Somewhere between when the the shelves started gathering dust and the books became well loved, it had become theirs. It had a life of it's own, and even though he hated the idea of it to begin with, he couldn't let it go anymore.

Laura hung up the phone and tossed it onto the cushion in-between them, "Just so you know, I asked for anchovies on it. You know, for not ordering it earlier," she smirked triumphantly at him, and Derek was about to make a comment on how she really shouldn't qualify as his guardian because she acted like a child, but his phone vibrated, interrupting his plan.

_Stiles_

_1 New Text Message_

He stared at his phone, too surprised to actually check the text. Why would Stiles be texting him? Derek had never answered the first text that Stiles had sent him, assuming it was just so he could add him as a contact. But at 9:30 on a Wednesday? The only answer which Derek could come up with was that Stiles found another catering company and must be texting him to cancel.

"You okay there? You're eyes are doing that unimpressed squinty thing which usually precedes a series of unrealistic threats. And I thought that look was supposed to be reserved for me and me alone. Am I not obnoxious for you anymore, Der? Is your signature glare cheating on me? Because if it's filing for divorce, my innocent smile is totally getting away with everything and living your pouty ass on the curb."

Derek shook his head, "Yeah, fine," he muttered, (Laura huffed at him, her comedic performance which was in her opinion worthy of oscars, going unnoticed) and finally swiped his thumb across the screen, unlocking it and opening the message.

_Did uou know taht snails can sleep for three years?_

A surprised smile spread across Derek's face and he typed out a quick: _What?_ A few seconds later his phone vibrated again.

_Annnnnnd., when pauossumns are playing dead its not a jokev/? they just pass out from complete terror_

Derek honest to god snorted. There was no way he was ever admitting it, but it happened. He messaged back quickly, still shaking his head with laughter as he answered.

_I have to say, this is the first time I've ever hoped that someone is drunk texting... I get that possum may be a hard word to spell but your attempt is actually scaring me._

"Okay seriously, who are you talking to?" Laura asked, leaning over to take a look at his phone.

He quickly pressed the lock button, turning the screen black so she couldn't read it, "It's ahh, just Stiles,"

"I thought you hated him," she raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he's still an ass, but we're supposed to be doing business with him now, so that kind of involves having to talk to him," he shrugged as his phone lit up again, but she didn't want to risk checking it now that she was watching. It's not that it would have been bad for her to see... except that it totally would've been. She would never stop harassing him if she read their conversation; he could only imagine Laura printing out countless copies of Stiles' text messages on t-shirts and sweaters, then conveniently shrinking all of his other tops.

"Alright, whatever you say," she trailed off as a smile formed on her lips. "I'll go grab plates, do you want a drink or something?" Derek just shook his head as Laura walked off.

Since the accident so many things had changed for them. They had to move and adapt almost everything about their lives, and were both at first desperate to find some form of stability. A reminder that they were still just Derek and Laura. Obviously, there was nothing of monumental importance that they could keep the same, but it was the little things which added up. The little things like the plates. When they lived in their old home and were a complete family, it was always a tradition (regardless of the constant complaining and bickering between siblings) for them to eat together at least once a week. They didn't have the same elaborate table which these meals were always held at anymore, and often weeks would go by when they just wouldn't have time to eat with one another, but when they could, they would always use plates. Sure, it would have been easier to just eat the pizza right out of the box or on napkins, but it reminded them both that they were still a family.

* * *

By Thursday night, Derek's wishes for the texts he received to have been sent long after Stiles was sober, had been proved correct. There was a picture of him and most of The Pack stepping out of one of the bars that Erica Reyes' family owned, all of them supporting equally glazed over expressions. What he wasn't expecting, though, was for Stiles to walk into the deli just as he was about to read the article following the picture. He knew that Stiles wouldn't be able to see what he was looking at from the entrance of the store, let alone the other side of the counter, but he reacted automatically and made an attempt at shoving his phone into his back pocket. A loud crack clarified the extent at which his plan failed, and his eyes trailed to the floor to see that he had missed his pocket entirely. Derek quickly picked it up off the ground and looked over to Stiles who was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk.

He rolled his eyes and glared, "Do you want something?"

"Well, now that you're asking, I'm kind of curious to see what you were doing on your phone that caused you to jump about six feet in the air the second the door chimed," Stiles leaned over the counter and feebly reached over for it, but using his other hand, Derek grabbed onto Stiles' wrist and pushed him back.

"Not happening."

"Alright, alright," Stiles said, defeated. "Obviously that's not why I showed up anyway, that would only be _somewhat_ creepy," he dragged out the last few words, chuckling. "I just thought that I would come to confirm the plans for Sunday? There's kind of a lot to go over, and seeing as the store seems to be pretty dead," Stiles peered over his shoulder, "or totally dead, which is just so wrong because this place is all kinds of amazing, you should grab two cups of coffee and sit down while we talk."

Derek considered the request for a second. It was pretty unnecessary to meet over something that could be discussed over the phone, but Stiles practically came from a different world than him, so it was pretty much given that they did business differently. And Stiles was right. The deli was dead. Laura had left hours ago- and thank god for that, because the last thing he needed was her to witness more material that she would no doubt use against him. Making up his mind, he nodded. His eyes flicked down to where he was still holding on to Stiles' wrist, and he automatically flinched back. "Coffee. Sounds good," he rushed out, and quickly turned around to pour some from the freshly brewed pot into mugs. Stiles wandered around the deli as Derek worked, walking past the extensive amount of food; everything from sandwiches and salads to bagels and pastries, over to the scattered arrangement of tables.

They spent the next twenty minutes tucked away at one of the booths, discussing the details for Sunday. A soft light filtered in from the windows, darkening ever so slightly as the time passed. Derek listened to everything that Stiles had to say about Sunday, making sure to take down notes on anything he didn't already know. They had done catering before, but by the sounds of it this was going to be something entirely different. It wasn't so much the information that took up time, but instead he found himself listening to Stiles run off on tangents, telling stories of past brunches. Derek never interrupted him though, coming to the realization that he was enjoying the minutes which steadily ticked by, somewhat disappointed on the few occasions when a customer entered and he was forced to put a hold on their conversation to serve them.

Derek had known that it was going to be a bigger deal than anything him and Laura had put together in the past, but the massive list of food in front of him was not what he had been expecting. By the looks of things it was going to take a few more people than just him and his sister. Derek folded up the list and tucked it into his jeans. He would need to talk to Laura about bringing in a few part-time employees to help with the brunch. Or maybe he could just get a couple people from school who needed a bit of extra cash to help out.

"Anyway," Stiles said, interrupting Derek's thoughts, "seriously, just thanks so much for doing this-"

"It's fine," Derek shrugged, interrupting him, "I mean we're the ones getting paid so I should probably be thanking you."

Stiles grinned, but shook his head, "No, really it was so last minute, I don't know if we would have been able to find anyone else. And my dad was insanely pissed at me, so I think that getting someone to cater softened him up a bit," Stiles unzipped his bag and dug around in it until he found a creme coloured envelope. He hesitantly slid it across the table to Derek. "I wanted to give this to you by the way. To say thanks."

Derek stared at the envelope, confused as to whether he should open it or not.

"It's an invitation to the Argent's charity ball tomorrow night. I don't know if you would be interested in going, but it was the least I could do," he smiled and Derek thought back to a few days ago when he was criticizing the entire idea behind the event with Laura. He was tempted to just hand it back, because really? Stiles thought that he would be interested in going to something like that?

He rationalized that just about anyone else would have sacrificed their unborn child for the opportunity to receive an invite, and it _was_ a nice thing to do, but Derek couldn't manage to get passed the superficial coating behind the gesture. Having a few conversations with Stiles alone was more than enough interaction with the whole lot of them, and serving the rest at brunch was already going to push him out of his comfort zone; he didn't need to take it once step further and attend the same parties. He smiled regardless, picking the envelope up off the table. As much as he didn't want to go, there was no need to be an asshole about it. Besides, maybe he could sell it. Or give it to Laura; it would probably make her shit rainbows and glitter for a month straight. She kept up with The Pack's lives more so than Derek, but instead of turning a harsh eye to them all, she found their lives genuinely entertaining.

Derek had seen her blog dedicated to Lydia Martin's clothing. He bookmarked it. Screenshotted page after page, just in case she decided to delete it one day.

Laura wasn't the only one who was talented in the art of discovering blackmail.

"Alright, I should start cleaning up and head out. I'll see you..." he hesitated, unsure of what to say. He didn't want to say tomorrow and pretend that he was even considering going to the ball, but he didn't want to seem like a dick and say Sunday, completely ignoring the invitation. "Later. I'll see you later," he settled on. It wasn't the most favourable of answers, but it at least didn't leave him stranded, an unfinished sentence floating in the air. Stiles simply waved, seemingly not fazed, and left Derek to finish his work.

* * *

The party was shit. It was the only conclusion Stiles could come to. Maybe it wasn't quite as disappointing for everyone else, but from his seat at the bar there was no looking up. He waved his hand behind him, motioning for one of the bar tenders to bring him another shot of rum, while he watched the bodies in front of him dance and press against one another. Usually he would be more than happy to get in the middle of it all, but he just couldn't bring himself to tonight. Something was off. The shot was passed to him, and he threw it back, not even feeling the burn anymore. He couldn't remember exactly how many he had taken so far, but it was numbing him and that was all that mattered.

The coloured lights flashed and the music pounded, the beat of the song in time with his racing heart. He could make out Lydia in the crowd, dancing with someone he didn't know. That was good. Maybe it would clear up the rumors about them.

After only a few more minutes, the liquor hit him in another wave and his eyes were unable to stay trained on the two of them for any longer. He made attempts at zoning in on other faces in the crowd but it was useless. His disorientation left him clueless, and it wasn't until Jackson lightly punched him in the shoulder that Stiles noticed he had even been approaching him. Clearly though, the other teen had been there for awhile, as he was holding a drink in both hands. He gave one to Stiles and took a sip of his own.

"What's up, man?"

Stiles chose to take a mouthful of whatever Jackson ordered over speaking. He couldn't really tell what was in the mix, not that it mattered. It was all just the same. He didn't really have an answer for Jackson, didn't really have an answer for himself. It shouldn't have been a loaded question, but somehow the implications of it weighed down on him. Instead of making up some half assed excuse, he shrugged and downed the rest of his drink.

Jackson watched him curiously for a moment before he lost interest in figuring Stiles out. "Well, I was gonna head up to the roof with Isaac and Boyd to smoke a bowl if you wanted to come?"

"I don't really feel like it," he answered as he leaned back against the counter and gave the empty glass back to the bar tender.

"You should come up anyway. Scott's not smoking 'cause of his stupid lacrosse shit that he has to keep up, so it doesn't even matter."

After a few seconds of just sitting there practically lifeless, Jackson realized that Stiles wasn't even considering coming with. He gave him a quick slap on the back and walked off, leaving Stiles alone again. Sure, Jackson was a good friend, but he couldn't really be bothered with anything below surface level. He was always just in on things for the ride; never digging into other peoples lives, and never letting others in on his own. His company was nice, but Stiles didn't really mind being left alone for a moment either.

His contentment with the stillness of his thoughts only lasted seconds though; his legs were starting to ache from being situated in one place for so long, and he figured that he might as well make his way up to meet with his friends. Disappointingly, standing up from the the stool proved to be better in theory and severely problematic in practice. He stumbled over himself and came close to crashing onto the floor in a heap. Luckily, he grabbed onto the bar counter and steadied himself, letting out a small, humorless laugh. Maybe walking wasn't such a good idea.

He slowly raised himself back onto the stool, only realizing then just how completely hammered he was. He asked for a glass of water, hoping to sober himself up. The fresh air would have done better to distract him from the now undeniably present clench in his stomach, but he didn't even want to _think_ about standing up again. Desperate for something else to pull his attention to, Stiles pulled out his phone and tried to unlock it.

_Incorrect Password_

_Incorrect Password_

_Incorrect Password: Three Attempts Remaining_

"Fucking hell," he held back an urge to concuss someone with the device, and took in a deep breath before slowly keying it in one last time. Finally succeeding, he opened his contacts, scrolling down the list. _Dad_ was one of the first names and he made sure to swipe past it, not wanting to accidentally call him.

_Derek_ was a few more names down the line, and he barely registered what he was doing, the phone suddenly pressed against his ear, seemingly of its own will.

It took a few rings before he heard the click of someone picking up, and if Stiles had been sober he probably would have realized that it wasn't exactly an appropriate time to be calling someone. Regardless, a groggy voice answered the phone, "Stiles?"

"Derek! Dare! Darey-Barey! You sound grumpy... Turn that frown upside-down," Stiles said, smiling into the phone.

"Stiles, why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning?"

"Well," Stiles frowned, trying to remember why he called. "It seemed like a good idea?" he tired. "Oh! No I know! You said I would see you! Remember, I gave you the card and then you sai-" Stiles lost his train of thought as the stools beside him filled up with Lydia and the guy he didn't know who had been dancing with her. "Heyydia!" He grinned sloppily at her, completely forgetting that the phone was pressed against his ear and that he was supposed to be having a conversation with someone on the other line. A fairly one-sided conversation, but a conversation nonetheless.

Lydia started to talk to him about something that Stiles couldn't be bothered to pay attention to, as his focus was drifted to what the guy next to her was doing. He had two drinks in front of him and Stiles watched as he pulled something small from his pocket and dropped it into one of them. He started to slide it across the counter to Lydia when Stiles caught on to what was happening.

Adrenaline shot through him, sobering him up enough to allow Stiles to drop his phone onto the counter and push back to stand on his feet. He dragged himself closer, taking a good look at the stranger in front of him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The words were all but spat out of Stiles' mouth, his head snapping up to meet his eyes. There may not have been too significant of a height difference, but Stiles' build was nothing in comparison, and if he was any smarter would take the chance to back down while he still could.

"I'm just enjoying myself here... But I think you've had one too many drinks and should probably get some help before you do something you'll regret," he matched Stiles' cold stare as he spoke evenly, obviously ready to stand his ground.

Stiles felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and Lydia whispered to him, "Stiles, he's a really nice guy, just leave it alone... I can take care of myself. You just need to get home, do you want me to get Scott to take you back?" Stiles shoved his shoulder back and pushed Lydia off of him.

"This dick clearly is everything _but_ a nice guy, Lyds. He's trying to fucking dru-" Stiles heard the resonating crack before he actually felt any pain, and his words stopped immediately. Without warning he lost his balance, and instead of regaining it for a second time, he fell to the floor as his blood pounded through his body. Blurred flickers of white filled his vision briefly before it was replaced entirely with blackness.

* * *

Warmth. That's all he could feel. Warmth. It filled all of his senses. He was being taken somewhere. Maybe somewhere safe. Or maybe he was just dying. Probably dying, he hadn't had very much luck thus far his life, the chances of it spontaneously changing were too slim to even consider.

There was a steady rock of his body, as if he was thousands of miles out at sea on a small boat, the ripples gently carrying him back to shore. And then there were the lights. Red. Blue. Green. White. They danced around him. Soft words were whispered to him. He couldn't be sure what they were saying. Whatever it was though, it gave him hope that everything was going to be okay. Hell, if anything else, at least dying felt nice.

* * *

Derek shook his head as he pulled into the parking lot for the event, not even bothering to turn the car off before storming out. What was he doing here? Why had he taken his sisters keys and driven all the way across town to get this one stupid kid who probably knew at least a hundred others who would be willing to take care of him at the snap of his fingers? He couldn't even come up with an answer. He was too tired to even try to. It was just the shouting on the phone. The muffled words followed by what sounded a little too much like bone breaking. He had been scared into coming. If he had done nothing and Stiles ended up hurt Derek knew he would be at fault. And that terrified him; the idea of an ever growing list of names who's harm he was responsible for. That underlying horror tugged at him, forcing him to race out and meet Stiles. Forcing him to thrust the ticket he never planned on using at the bouncer who shot him a judgmental look, eyeing Derek's clothing suspiciously, as if he couldn't understand how someone like him came in possession of an invite.

"Judgmental bastards," he grunted, pushing his way through the doors. He searched around the room frantically until he found the corner where people parted. Stiles was passed out in the middle of it all, a bruise forming on the left side of his face. Before he had the chance to think twice, he moved through the crowd and slung Stiles into his arms. It was as he turned to walk away that he realized the rest of The Pack were among the people standing around him. Well, he must have looked strange. Someone none of them knew just walking into the room and picking up the friend that they had all spend the better part of their lives following around. He started to feel uncomfortable under their gazes and made a weak attempt at smiling.

"I swear I'm not stealing him... I'm Derek? You can check on his phone history or whatever, he was talking to me when I heard some shouting so I thought it would be best to come see what was going on. Which was obviously a good idea because by the looks of it none of you idiots were about to step in and do something for him," he had meant to mumble the last bit to himself, but by the reactions he got it had clearly come out louder than intended. "Right," he said, growing increasingly tense, "I'll just head out now."

Derek quickly rushed out of the building, not waiting to see what would happen if he stayed. He jogged to his car and threw open the passengers side before he dumped Stiles inside. Not wanting to have come all the way out here just to kill him while driving, Derek secured the seatbelt around his body. After he walked around the car and settled into the drivers seat he allowed his head to fall against the steering wheel. It took him a few seconds to compose himself and build up enough energy to drive away. Once he was one the road he drove without thinking, automatically taking the rout back to his apartment. He had no clue where Stiles lived to begin with, and he figured that it wouldn't exactly be the most brilliant idea to bring him home in this state.

He heard Stiles shuffle after a few minutes of silence. Derek wasn't sure if that meant he had woken up, but even if he had, he figured that Stiles wouldn't remember anything that was happening.

"Why are you always doing shit like this to yourself, Stiles?" He was asking himself more than anything, and didn't expect an answer. To his surprise though, a muffled voice responded from the passenger seat.

"Helps m'forget."

Derek looked over at Stiles, having forgotten for a moment that he should have kept his eyes on the road. He couldn't be sure if the boy was just drunk and rambling or if he was actually answering Derek's question.

He shook his head and returned his eyes to the windshield.

* * *

**A/N:** Ahhhh so if you've been following this for awhile you'll realize that this is just an updated/prettier/less terrible version of what chapter two used to be. So yeah, now that I've fixed these up I should have chapter three up in the next week. Excitement, whooo. I don't know why I ever thought stopping this fic was a good idea? It's really entertaining to write.


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